Hands
by Tequila-Lollipops
Summary: Harry and Severus have an almost civil conversation, during one of Harry's latenight rambles...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** Please excuse the mess I've made of the potions ingredients. I did try to do _some_ research, honest!

He stared down at his hands, noting all their flaws and imperfections. The stubby-looking, crooked fingers. The too-short nails. The scars. He wished his hands looked like—wait. Why would something like that even _dare _to cross his mind? He snorted and grinned at his own foolishness. It's not like anyone would hear if he finished his thought. After all, it was inside his head, and he was the only person in the library this late at night. Or so he thought."Mr. Potter!" Harry winced as a black-clad form swooped down at him. In a sneering voice, his Potions Professor continued, "I assume you have some astonishingly pressing reason for being in the library at--" He paused to cast a Tempus spell. "A quarter of _midnight_?"

Harry sighed and continued staring at his hands. He knew that whatever excuse he came up with would not suffice, so he decided on the truth. At the very least, it might serve to shock his professor into _not_ giving him detention. "Sir, I couldn't sleep, and…at night, the library is very peaceful. Particularly when one wishes to read an astoundingly complicated book on Potions."

Snape snorted disbelievingly, but a wicked gleam came into his eye when he noted the open book sitting on Harry's lap. "Very well, then, Potter. Let's see how much information you have—gleaned from reading." He spoke as though he didn't believe Harry capable of the act of edification.

Abruptly, almost viciously, he snatched the book, flipped to a page at random, and began to scan it.

"What is the best use of Acromantula Venom?"

Harry paused to think for a moment before responding, with a slight smirk, "Currently, the uses are unknown, but the author postulates that it might be used, in conjunction with powdered Griffin Claw and Lionfish Spine to make a virtually untraceable poison. Although, personally, I think it might rather explode."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, and in a dangerously silky voice, he said, "And may I inquire as to just _why_ you would expect that reaction?"

"Because both Griffin Claw and Lionfish Spine are highly volatile, especially when mixed together like that. And if you were to add Mandrake to stabilize it, it would most likely ruin it, because Mandrake is an antidote, and would probably negate the effects of the Acromantula Venom." Harry paused, and was gratified to see the slightly astonished look on Snape's face.

"Well, Potter. I'm positively exhilarated to discover that your vocabulary has improved over the summer. Although, I must admit that I'm more accustomed to hearing you utter monosyllabic grunts when—conversing with me."

Harry glanced up at Snape. "Well, sir, it's not like you invited cheerful conversation. Always wandering around with a dour expression and scaring the lives out of all the students within your line of sight."

Snape felt the corners of his mouth twitch at the rather accurate representation Potter had presented him with. "True. I suppose you were really reading the book, but what possessed you to read at such a late hour, if I may again inquire?"

Harry sighed. Clearly, Snape hadn't believed him about the not being able to sleep. It was true, but it was also only part of the truth.

"I told you, sir, I couldn't—" Snape cut him off with a violent gesture. "I know what you _said_, Potter. I want to know the _real_ reason."

Harry shrugged, figuring it couldn't hurt. "I want to improve in Potions. I want to prove to you that I'm _not_ my father, and that I _can_ do things well. Just once, I'd like you to look at my work as—approvingly as you do Malfoy's. But I want that to be because I've _earned_ it, and not because I'm a student you favor."

Harry winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He watched as the professor's face changed from what had been an almost amiable expression (for him) to what could only be described as utter revulsion and disgust. He bowed his head and waited for the stinging words of his most hated teacher to come pouring out, and was surprised when a flurry of black robes flumped down in the chair across from him. He looked up to see onyx eyes glaring at him with an appraising expression. "It seems I was—mistaken about you, Potter," he said, albeit with a dangerous edge to his voice. "Despite the fact that you resemble your father greatly, you have more of your mother's character in you than I ever saw. "

"More than I ever _chose_ to see," he said, almost to himself.

Harry looked at his professor in utter astonishment. First, Snape hadn't immediately given him detention, and had heard him out. Then, he'd given him a compliment, even though it was a rather backhanded one. _Then_ he'd almost….well…apologised to Harry for his treatment of him. He wondered what had happened to the real Snape…

Unexpectedly, he was distracted by a gleam in the corner of his eye. It was a ring on the Potion Master's hand. Harry stared at it, almost hypnotized. The thought that he'd left unfinished earlier came back to him. _"I wish my hands looked like his. __Long and graceful.__ Not so pale, though. I don't think I'd like resembling a vampire."_ He snorted at the irreverence of the thought, and was forcibly reminded of the other's presence when his gaze was trapped by a pair of hard, black eyes. "Would you care to favor me with the reason for your merriment?"

"Harry gulped as he remembered to whom he was speaking. "I—Uh—just remembered something funny that Ron said at dinner, that's all."

"And you remembered this while staring fixedly at my family crest?" Snape scoffed. "I find that highly unlikely. Try again"

Harry was lost for words. It wouldn't do to tell the man that he admired his hands. That would come across completely wrong. And it wasn't that he admired Snape's hands in particular, he just noticed other people's hands in general. You could tell a great deal about someone from their hands. From Snape's hands, you could tell—he stopped that particular line of thought as he realized that the owner of the hands he was staring at-yet again-was waiting for an answer. He took a breath, decided that he couldn't say _that_, took another breath, and let it out in frustration. Since he and Snape were being so frank with one another tonight, he decided he might as well tell all. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying goes. "Well, sir, I was actually looking at your hands, not your crest. It was just shiny, and caught my eye." He paused to register the dumbfounded look on the man's face before plowing forward. "And, no, I don't have some—creepy obsession with people's hands, I just find it interesting what you can tell about someone from looking at their hands. Take mine, for instance." He held up his crooked fingers for inspection. "You can tell they were broken, so you know that I either play rough sports or get into fights a lot." "_Or get your fingers stomped on by overweight bullies," _said the more cynical part of his mind.

Snape looked speculatively at him. "Hmph. Since you're so interested in _my_ hands, why don't you share with me what you've discovered from them?"

Harry stared at Snape for a moment before speaking. "Well, you write a lot. There's usually ink on your fingers. And you work with plants, because your fingertips are stained slightly. You're not much of an outdoors person; there's no dirt under your nails, and they're rather longer than most outdoors-type people would like. Umm…" He studied Snape's hands for a moment longer before making his final pronouncement. "And, you're left-handed. At least, you were born that way. Maybe not now, but you were."

Snape raised his eyebrows and said menacingly, "Whatever gives you _that_ idea, Potter?"

Harry looked at him smugly before replying, "Your ring. It's on your right hand. Presumably so that it doesn't get in your way while you're writing. I'm almost _positive_ that it would be cumbersome when holding a quill, big as it is."

"Very interesting, Potter. I still fail to see the humor in any of that. "

"Oh. That was just because it briefly crossed my mind that you resemble a vampire." As Harry finished his sentence, he felt his lips start to twitch, and had to bite his cheek before he laughed outright. The scandalized look on his teacher's face would be remembered for a very long time. Harry decided to ask something while the man was still stunned by being compared to a vampire.

"Sir, may I ask…Why are you being so civil to me all of a sudden? You've come upon me many times after curfew, and never once before decided to hear me out." He started to say more, then stopped as a thought struck him. He looked suspiciously at Snape.

"Are you…really Snape?" The death glare he received in response was enough to answer that question, once and for all.

"Well, since you ask, I suppose it was my surprise at finding you willingly inhabiting the library--alone--without seeming to be planning any mischief," Snape drawled. "Now, as it is _quite_ late, and I would relish at least a few hours' rest before attempting to teach this school's horrid excuses for students, I suggest we both retire to our respective beds." He rose gracefully, and waited for Harry to do the same.

They strode (or in Snape's case, stalked) to the door of the library in an almost companionable silence, and once they were outside the door, Snape turned to Harry and said, "Oh, and Potter? Do continue your—studies. I think they might have a—positive effect on your time in my class. However, I suggest you choose a more appropriate time for them. Detention with me, Saturday at 5.00." He smirked smugly to himself and whisked away.

Harry groaned. At least it afforded him another opportunity to study his hands…


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday. He scowled fiercely as he remembered just what that meant. Detention. McGonagall had been angry, but she hadn't asked too much about it, and she hadn't taken points. Which was good. It was also good that she hadn't asked. He really didn't feel like explaining himself again. With a sigh, he dragged himself up off the couch, giving Hermione and Ron a glance. They were both bent over a book about Arithmancy, which Harry knew Ron hated. He rolled his eyes. The things some people would do… He'd made it all the way to the picture and was about to climb through when Ron noticed. "Hey, mate, where're you off to?" Hermione glared at him, giving him a sharp jab with her elbow. "Ow!"

"He's got detention, remember?" Ron blushed slightly. "Oh, yeah. Sorry mate. I forgot." Harry grinned at him. "Yeah, Ron, I noticed. Oh! I'd better go. I don't want to be late!" He vaguely heard Ron mutter something about a 'greasy bat' as he slid through the portrait hole. He landed, proceeded to walk down the corridor, then paused to cast a Tempus. 4.50. He started to run.

Amazingly, he arrived at Snape's office with one minute to spare. Pausing to catch his breath, he knocked lightly on the door. No answer. Harry stared at the door, perplexed. He was sure that Snape had said—Abruptly he whirled as a hand grasped his shoulder. "Professor-- "

"Potter," Snape sneered in his most vicious tone. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"Sir—you said—deten—"

"Five points from Gryffindor for being utterly inarticulate. Get out of my sight!" With that, Snape swooped past him into the office, slamming the door ferociously. Harry stared after him, dumbfounded. What on earth was that all about? Probably some elaborate Death Eater plan. Harry knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn't help but compare the Snape of two nights ago with the one he had recently encountered in the dungeons. Pity the man had reverted so fast. With that last thought, he realized he'd reached the Fat Lady. He gave her the password and wandered into the Common room wearing what must have been an extremely dazed expression, since Ron and Hermione were almost instantaneously upon him.

"Wow, Harry, that was the shortest detention you've ever had!" said Ron, cheerfully. Hermione chimed in, "Yes. It was a rather short detention. Did you really go?"

Harry opened his mouth to tell them, then stopped as a thought hit him. What if the night in the library had been a dream? At least the part with Snape in it. He remembered studying in the library, and he certainly remembered his theory about the Griffin Claw and Lionfish Spine. Thinking back to the encounter in the hall outside of Snape's dungeon, he realized he couldn't remember Snape wearing the ring. Come to think of it, he never remembered the man having a ring before that night. His musings were interrupted by Hermione poking him and asking, "Harry?"

Harry gave himself a mental shake. "Sorry, 'Mione. I did go for detention, but I must have got the time mixed up or something, because Snape wasn't there." He felt only a small pang of remorse over lying to his friends. Hermione looked puzzled, but accepted his story as the truth. Ron congratulated him on avoiding detention, then went back to 'studying' Arithmancy with Hermione, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

Harry puzzled over the night in the library. He felt as though he were missing something. The ring—That was it! The ring! It had the Snape crest on it. Harry had never seen it before, that he was sure of. The only reason he'd known it to be a crest was because of its shape. He sighed. What a mystery. Oh well. He was sure it would be solved the next time he and the Potions Master crossed paths.


	3. Chapter 3

Monday morning. Harry groaned as he hauled himself out of bed. He hadn't slept well, in fact, he felt as though he hadn't slept at all. No Voldemort dreams, just strange, half remembered, Alice-in-Wonderland dreams. The ones that he woke up from unable to distinguish dream from reality. Merlin, how he hated those. He'd had one once about an argument between him and Ron. Harry had gotten all worked up, and was about to light into Ron for taking such a foolish position, when he realized that the argument was only a dream. Harry shook his head at himself. Maybe he should ask Madam Pomfrey for some Dreamless Sleep potion. No, on second thought, that wouldn't work. She'd be worried, and would tell Dumbledore and—well, Harry just didn't feel like causing all that fuss.

Breakfast passed far too quickly for Harry's liking. He tried dawdling at the table, but Hermione was in a frightful rush. She chivied Harry and Ron along so much that they made it to potions almost ten minutes early. Snape wasn't even there yet, and the door was still locked. Harry and Ron slumped down next to the door; Hermione, predictably, pulled out a book and started studying.

Harry studied his hands. Short and stubby. He clenched them into fists, noting how the tendons stood out in his hands and wrists. Idly, he wondered if Snape's tendons did that…

"Potter, you seem to have imbued your friends with some of your newfound love for Potions. Amazing."

Snape stalked past the three to unlock the door, and harry started fixedly at his hands. The crest was back. Back? "_Five points…Utter inarticulateness…" _ Snape hadn't been wearing the ring that evening. Maybe it was some kind of Imperius thing. Maybe the ring was cursed, and Snape was being controlled by some nice person. Maybe—"

"_MR. POTTER!" _ Harry started violently. "Perhaps you'd care to join us?" Snape said coldly. Harry flushed and took his seat.

Class passed slowly. Harry, due to his extra studying, actually felt rather comfortable making the potion, so while he was preparing his ingredients, he studied Snape's hands. Snape was grading papers; sometimes following a line with his finger, other times tapping impatiently on the desktop. Once again, Harry wished his hands looked like that.

_"OUCH!"_

Harry looked down at his hand. He had been so lost in his reverie that he'd stopped paying attention to what he was doing, and had neatly sliced a small chunk off his thumb. It wasn't bleeding—yeah it was. Damn. He looked around for something to wrap it in, and was surprised to see a handkerchief thrust into his field of vision. "Thanks," he muttered. Clumsily, he covered his thumb with the handkerchief and looked up to see who had handed it to him. Snape. Of course. The man had to have heard him shout.

"Granger, Malfoy. Watch the class. I shall return momentarily, after I take Mr. _Potter_ here to the hospital wing." Snape glared briefly at Harry before favoring the rest of the class with it. "If I hear that any of you has set so much as one—thumb out of line, you will serve detention with Mr. Filch until your graduation." With that, he swooped out of the room with Harry in tow.


	4. Chapter 4

The journey to the hospital wing was completed in total silence, unless you counted Snape's looks, which shouted volumes. They were on the stairs leading from the third to the fourth floor when Harry tripped. Forgetting himself, he reached out and caught himself with his injured hand.

"OW! Merlin!" Harry squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to pass. He'd had worse. At that particular minute, he couldn't really remember it, but he was sure he had. Vernon—Harry stopped the thought. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see Snape staring at him in what appeared to be fascination.

"Mr Potter, are you quite finished?" He asked scathingly. Out of force of habit, Harry glared at him before replying. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Then we shall continue"

He stalked off, clearly meaning for Harry to follow. Which, of course, he did.

"Sir?"

"What, boy?" Harry winced slightly at Snape's tone. Not the words. Just the tone. Yeah, right.

"Never mind, sir, it wasn't important." Somehow managing to scowl even through the back of his head, Snape growled, "Clearly it was, or you would not have interrupted my ruminations with your inane chatter. Please, share your thoughts with me, I beg of you." Harry glared at the man in front of him, greatly resenting the sarcastic order.

"I was just wondering why you had to escort me to the hospital wing. I mean, I've been worse injured than this before and I made it there on my own."

"The correct way to phrase that would be 'I've been more badly injured', not 'I've been worse injured', Mr. Potter. And to answer your question, I always escort my students when they've been injured, no matter how distasteful I find their company. Or how small the injury. One can never be too careful."

By this time, they had reached the hospital wing. Harry entered and was immediately attacked by Madam Pomfrey. "Harry! What in Merlin's name have you done now?"

"I—"

"The foolish boy was not paying attention in my class, and somehow managed to slice off a piece of his thumb," Snape murmured frostily.

Pomfrey gasped and immediately entered full nurse mode, while Harry rolled his eyes at Snape's back. The man paused in the doorway, seemed about to say something, thought better of it, and continued on his way. A moment later, however, he had returned. "Potter, Detention with me tonight." Harry gaped at him. "Whatever for , Sir?!" Snape smirked. "For not paying attention in class, _obviously_. Perhaps I should schedule another one for sheer inobservance?" Evidently, this last sally did not require an answer, because Snape departed hastily.

That evening, Harry reluctantly trudged down to the dungeons, with Hermione's disapproving look still lingering in his mind. Once he reached the door to Snape's office, he hesitated, wondering which Snape would be there tonight. Harry was beginning to think that there were two Snapes. The nice one, who was a long lost twin, and the usual Snape, who was the evil one. With this in mind, he knocked twice and entered. Snape, predictably was sitting behind his desk, marking papers. There was one other chair in the room, directly across the desk from Snape. With an absent-minded glare in Harry's direction, Snape motioned for him to sit down while he continued marking. Harry sat, which afforded him another opportunity to study Snape's hands. Funny. The ring was back. Wait. Maybe the ring had been dipped into some personality altering potion, so that when Snape wore it, he got nicer. That must be it.

Harry looked up at Snape to find the man glaring at him as though expecting an answer. Harry belatedly realized that Snape had asked him a question.

"I—uh—I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't paying attention," Harry stammered. Snape favored him with a frosty glare before replying. "Clearly. I _asked_ you what jejune thoughts were passing through your head _this_ time."

Harry eyed his professor quizzically. "This time?"

"You were gawking at my ring again."

"Oh." Harry decided that since honesty had served him well in the past, being honest once more couldn't hurt. "I was thinking that it must be dipped into some kind of personality-altering potion. Whenever you wear it, it makes you be nice." To Harry's utter consternation, Snape started chuckling. Granted, it was not great, belly-heaving guffaws, but it was a laugh. After a few moments, Snape regained his composure, looked Harry in the eye…and lost it again, although, this time, it was more of a snort-up-the-sleeve type.

"Potter, you never cease to amaze me. Personality altering potion, indeed." Harry shrugged; it had seemed like a viable option when he'd thought of it. "Then, if it's not a potion what is it?" he inquired boldly. Snape's eyes narrowed, as though he were determining Harry's level of trustworthiness. Then he shrugged. "Albus decided to interfere, as usual. He knew that I was being surveiled at fandom by the Dark Lord, and devised a spell to alert me. The crest—" he paused, his finger feeling almost as though someone had poked it. Harry stared at him expectantly. "The crest appears when it is safe for me to act as though I didn't do the Dark Lord's work." Harry's eyes widened as he realize the implications of this. "So that night you took points for—utter inarticulateness, I believe it was; that was only because you couldn't be seen being…normal?"

Snape's lip lifted in a sneer. "Normal, Potter? Since when has the word 'normal' applied to me?" Harry darted a look at Snape's hand. The crest was still there. This must just be regular Snape snark. Harry took a breath, hoping that Snape wouldn't murder him for what he was about to say. "Normal applied to you since you quit acting like you hated the world and started being almost cordial to certain people."

"And by certain people, I suppose you mean yourself? Please, spare me from being included in the Potter fan club." Harry glared daggers at Snape. "Yeah, you know, having a fan club is the best thing since…oh…I dunno. Getting bitten by a basilisk. Oh, wait. I think that was more fun, seeing as I got a phoenix ride out of the deal." Snape scoffed. "Please. Cease regaling me with falsehoods. If you'd been bitten by a basilisk, you'd be—" he broke of as Harry pulled up his sleeve, revealing two round, purple scars. "I'd be what, Professor? Dead? Yes, if it hadn't been for Fawkes. He cried on me, which, I assume, negated the poison. Phoenix tears _are_ a powerful ingredient in antidotes, are they not?"

For once in his life, Snape was speechless. Not only had he had an almost civil conversation with his nemesis, he'd discovered that said nemesis had been bitten by the most poisonous creature to inhabit the wizarding world. And the kid had _survived_. No wonder the brat was such a…brat. "Does it ever pain you?" Snape almost kicked himself for asking, but his insatiable curiosity had gotten the better of him once again. Harry glanced at Snape briefly before returning his gaze to his hands, which were resting on his lap. "Not really. I mean, I suppose it does, but I don't really notice it much. I've—" _No, no, no, stop! Mustn't think about things like that._

Snape narrowed his eyes as he watched Potter drop his. The boy had been about to say something...and Snape had a feeling that it was important. "You've what, Potter?" he asked softly. Harry kept his eyes firmly affixed on his shoes as he answered blandly, "Nothing, Professor. I misspoke." Snape's nostrils narrowed. The boy was lying to him! He--he seemed...ashamed? What could the Golden Boy have to be ashamed about? Especially considering the topic that they had been discussing. "Potter!" Harry's head whipped up and Snape could have sworn he'd seen the glittering of unshed tears in the boy's eyes. "Yes, Professor?"

Snape deliberately gentled his voice. "I know you were about to say something to me. I also know that it is something that you are ashamed of." Harry started to protest, but stopped when Snape held up his hand. "If you wish to--confide in me, rest assured that anything you say will not ever reach the ears or thoughts of another." Harry sneered slightly in an approximation of Severus himself. "Will it be safe from the biting sarcasm and burning wit of one Severus Snape?" Severus felt a momentary flash of anger run through him before he decided that the boy's words were not completely without grounds. "Yes. Anything you tell me will be completely forgotten once we leave this room." Severus gave Harry a look as he said this, making sure the boy know what was meant by 'forgotten'. Harry sighed and looked down at his hands. that was as good a place to start as any. He held them up so that the professor could see them clearly. "Tell me, professor. What do you make of these scars?" Severus looked at them closely. They were heavily scarred. They looked, perhaps, as if their owner was... "A fighter? Do you get into fights often?" Harry grimaced. " That would depend upon your definition of fight, Professor. If your definition includes me being chased by several boys who are all older and bigger than me; includes them catching me, holding me down, and stomping on me until either I lose consciousness or they lose interest, then, yes. I suppose I get into a lot of fights." Severus' nostrils flared as he felt another wave of rage course through him. Despite the fact that this boy was a Potter, he still did not deserve to be treated in that manner. "How long, boy?" Harry flinched before answering, something that did not escape Snape's notice. "As long as I can remember, Sir." Snape nodded to himself. "From your earlier comments, I would assume that there were other instances of...maltreatment, yes?" Harry thought wildly for a second. Here was his opportunity. Here he could choose to either confide in someone who had seemed to hate him from the moment he'd first laid eyes on him, or he could take the intelligent route and tell him "Well, really...that was the worst of it. The only other things were Dudley chasing me by himself and sitting on me when he caught me...and the occasional slap upside the head from Aunt Petunia...but those I deserved, really." Harry chuckled. "She only did that when I was being lazy in the mornings and didn't want to get up and make breakfast." He crossed his fingers and hoped that Snape would take the baiit and believe that the Golden Boy was really as spoiled as he'd always believed him to be. Severus looked at Harry. Really, truly looked at him for the first time. Harry was small. Severus knew that the boy was 15, but if he hadn't known that, he'd have sworn up and down that the boy was only 13. Severus knew that the boy's parents were not that small. Ergo, his size, or lack thereof, must have come from not eating enough. The other thing he noticed was that the boy rarely looked up unless he was spoken to directly. Take now for instance. The boy was staring down at the desk--but not quite...Severus saw that Harry was keeping one eye on him at all times. Almost as if he were expecting to have to leap out of the way of something...Harry broke the silence. "Now who's woolgathering while staring, Professor?" Severus started, then groaned internally as he felt a chill on his ring finger. "Harry, we will need to continue this conversation at another time. The Dark Lord--" Harry nodded. "I understand, Professor." Severus watched as the boy slipped out the door. Just in time, for the crest disappeared almost as soon as the door was shut.


End file.
